The Wolf's Tale
by SkyeElf
Summary: When you're small, your mother tells you fairy-tales. Why? To protect us. But I would've been much happier had she relayed the Wolf's tale to me, I wouldn't have been shocked that this happened. Drarry, slash.


**A/N: Okay, I did a lot of work on this one. I really did, and I enjoyed writing it too. I don't own HP, nor do I own the Holy Sonnet by John Donne. Drarry, so obviously slash. **

**The Wolf'sTale.**

Years I gave you my heart. You didn't give it away, but you stomped on it, squeezing the remainder of life it had out of it. You ended the beating. You left me.

I stared at the wall. It was just a wall. A plain wall. No dirty spots to add some colour, no happy pink or blue stripes. White. An endless haze of white. It hurt my eyes a bit, especially in the morning. It hurts the way your eyes hurt when you look at a white sheet of paper under the bright sunlight.

The sun winked at me through the lone window, its infectious rays attempting to cheer me up. It wouldn't work. Nothing worked anymore.

When you're little, your mother tells you stories of princesses, princes… all with 'happily ever afters' and riches beyond their wildest dreams. My mother, too, was a guilty party in this. They created ideas in our heads, ideas of love at first sight and happy endings on horses. Lies! They're all lies!

My mother had shared the muggle fairytales with me, much to my father's dismay. She never told Aunt Bella, _she _would've gone on and on about it.

Cinderella? Danced into happiness. Snow White – awoken with a kiss from impending death. Sleeping Beauty, which to me is the most ridiculous of the fairytales, was destined to fall dead with a simple prick of a needle. Little red Riding Hood got her grandmother back, Goldilocks got away scot-free.

Those tales are all imprudent; made up by people who weren't satisfied with their own lives. Lies!

If my mother had only shared the wolf's tale with me, I wouldn't be here. Had she simply not spoken of it at all, even better. The Warlock's Hairy Heart indeed seemed to fit in this context. Better yet, the Swan Lake. Not the version where the girl gets her prince. The version where the prince fell for the wrong girl... and she killed herself. I was there now.

When the Dark Lord returned, we had to choose sides. I was obligated to join the Dark side. It was that or my mother would be killed. Not with Avada Kedavra either, but with a noose she'd be hung. Set to face me as the last breaths were choked from her... Then it would've been me. Greyback took particular pleasure in the prospect of my demise.

When the batlle at Hogwarts broke out, I had to stay and fight. Kill or be killed. Predator or prey. I slashed my wand at people I didn't know, not aiming to kill… I was incapable of killing.

My father, the man I idolised, was dead. Killed by none other than my lunatic Aunt. I felt no remorse when Molly Weasley executed her, no love… nothing. My mother was heartbroken. Oh, not for her sister… for my father. Contrary to popular belief, he was not a cruel man, and he did love us. My mother went into a stupor, where she slayed Uncle Rodolphus. Me? I pulled her away, wanting to get her out before she too could be murdered. She fought me, but my mother was never physically strong.

I returned. I fought alongside Potter, with my mother's wand. I made the mental note to ask him for my wand later. He hadn't questioned my change of heart; he just accepted it with a nod. He saved my life numerous times; I would never be able to return the favour.

I was wounded. He helped to the Hospital Wing before returning to the fight. The medi-witch took one look at me, exclaimed in horror and set to work.

Once the battle was over, Potter turned up again. He said my father was dead because of him. Lucius Malfoy had had the unstoppable urge to shield him from my demented aunt. His last words had been to Potter.

"_Tell Draco to get out."_

Not out of Hogwarts, out of the country or even out of life. To get out of the Dark Side. To safety. He just sat there for what seemed like hours at my bedside. He didn't say anything, he stared at the wall. Much like I do now everyday.

"Why are you here?" I asked. His eyes flashed to me in such a manner that it temporarily unnerved me. Green connected to grey for a few minutes before he talked.

"I'm sorry about your father."

"It's not your fault…"

"It is." He silenced me with a hand. "He wouldn't have died were it not for me."

"Then he's a hero, Potter." I declared bashfully. "And, most of all, he's my hero. I know it was his dream, for me to be able to look up to him and respect the man he was. And guess what, potter?" I'd whispered, bringing my face unnaturally close to his. "My father is one of the greatest men I ever knew. He surpasses even Dumbledore."

We were inches apart. I felt his hot breath across my cheek. Goose flesh had risen up my arms and cheeks.

"I'm not denying it, Malfoy. I'm just saying that he shouldn't have died." Potter whispered, casting his eyes down. He was abashed, disconsolate. In a gesture I didn't expect, his finger danced across the back of my hand, twirling my one finger around in a bizarre tap. This tiny motion broke me. I gasped as a trail of warm tears slid from my eyes, burning them, and ran down in a trail on my cheeks.

Potter climbed onto the bed and enveloped me in his arms. He was strong, his arms muscled and his scent musky. Sweat and dirt wafted into my nostrils; it was the smell we wore after we played Quidditch. It spoke of victory, of hardship and work.

''You smell nice.'' I'd mumbled, revoking myself immediately. I would've tried to save my own dignity were it not for the continuous track of tears. Potter laughed. Yes, he laughed. At something I said. It wasn't a snort or a sneer, it was golden laughter. My ears reached out for the glorious sound. They hadn't heard something so pure and innocent in a very long while.

My hands seized his back, my fingers clawed into his back as I clung to him. At that moment in time, he was what kept me sane. He was what kept me clinging to life. Ironic, isn't it? He kept me sane when he's the reason for me being in the room with the single window.

I wasn't sure when I fell asleep, but when morning came the scent of Potter was still there. I'd watched him as he slept, peaceful and undisturbed. His hair falling over his eyes, his mouth a slight pink pout as he breathed, his glasses askew. His chest moved gently. I found myself snuggling up to him. He was warm, he was real, and he was there. I don't know where my other friends had gone. Pansy was probably in hiding, one of the Tweedles were dead, the other caught. Blaise was with my mother. The Zabinis had chosen no side in the war, thus I figured she'd be safe there.

Theodore was gone, masticated to a bloody mass of flesh. It had hung over the railings on the stairs, his head had rolled to a stop at my feet as I'd run. His eyes back in his skill, his mouth wide open while his tongue lolled out. From mid-neck down, his body was gone. Limbs and intestines scattered over the stairs. I didn't know what did it. Spiders, werewolves, giants... It didn't matter. Monsters did it.

All the good men die soon. I had the single hope that heaven did exist, that there really was a better place. A place of happiness for us all.

I recalled a poem I'd read by a muggle poet, John Donne. Death be not proud, a holy sonnet. He depicted Death as a humanoid creature, mocking and patronising death as the poem goes on. He claimed that Death is not as powerful as he seems to think he is, Death is merely a slave. Accidents do happen, Kings could decapitate you on a whim... But the paradox at the end was what made it.

''Death, thou shalt die!''

Rest and sleep are enjoyable, and they're mere images of death, so death must be more enjoyable... Not true?

As I stared at the man holding me, I'd wondered where it left us now. Were we friends? Were we still enemies? Were we more? Or was this simply an occurence? Once to happen and never again?

I'd always known Potter was good on the eye. I might not be explicitly gay, but I knew true beauty when I laid my eyes on it.

In the kindness he'd shown me the previous night, I'd hoped... But it was silly of me. He had Weasley. He surely held a great deal of caring for her. More than for me, I'm certain. Why would he see me in that light? I've done nothing but patronise him in previous years. I've been the perfect antagonist.

''Morning.'' His sleepy voice greeted me, his free arm stretched out as he stifled a yawn.

''Morning.'' I greeted unsurely. ''Sleep well?''

He grinned unexpectedly. ''I slept the best I've slept in years. You?''

''As much as I hate to acknowledge it, I slept like a baby.'' I admitted, looking down sheepishly. In another unexpected gesture, his hand found mine. He entwined our fingers, his fingers massaging my knuckles. I stared out our joined hands.

''What are you doing, Potter?'' I asked, falling into my sneering demeanor.

''I don't know.'' He answered, he was uncertain. Glancing up, I noticed his eyes were fixated on our hands, a frown creased between his eyes. ''What I do know is that I'm not leaving you.''

''Excuse me?'' I'd asked, certain I hadn't heard correctly. Potter smirked.

''I'm not leaving.'' He repeated. Settling himself more comfortably on the bed, his one arm tugged under his head whilst the other remained around me.

"Why do you care?" I heard myself ask, not finding the warmth his arm provided unpleasant. My hands crept onto his chest. For once I was vulnerable, and I exhibited it too.

"You know the day you cried in the boys' bathroom?" He asked. I nodded, ashamed at the memory. "It broke my heart. I'm sorry you had to go through that." He whispered an explanation. "I do care, Malfoy, as much I hate to admit it… I do care. And I care about you."

Before I could stop myself, I pressed my lips to his in a brief second. His lips were icy, probably from having slept atop the covers. They were rough and chapped too. But the feeling was wonderful. The typical fairy-tale feelings were there. I was dizzy as I pulled back, my heart was attempting to climb out of my throat in its erratic beating and my cheeks were a light pink. Both of his arms had been embracing me, my own arms were around his neck.

"Are you certain?" I'd asked. "Won't you become an outcast amongst your friends? And the wizarding world? You can't do this!"

He pulled away from me. "Malfoy, my friends would stick by me, even if I decided to date Myrtle. And I couldn't care less what the bloody wizarding world said, all right? Since when have they seen me as anything more than a mascot for the Light side?" He scowled. I tightened my grip on his shoulders, unwilling to let him go.

I hadn't thought I had even liked Potter before that, but as was my fairytale, I knew I loved him. Years of animosity had been a farce for jealousy. He had true friends, while I had henchmen and bought individuals. He was always laughing, always finding a reason to laugh, while I had none. I laughed with a few characters, Blaise and Theo, while Potter seemed to be able to laugh with anyone.

"Promise me." I begged. "Promise you'll never leave, no matter what."

"I promise." He swore, his hand trailed up to my chin. He tilted it up and pressed a tender kiss to my lips. "I promise…" He repeated in a murmur against my mouth.

Later that day Weasley and Granger had shown up, the two as shocked about Potter's revelation as I had been. They shared the news from the castle with us. How it was going to be rebuilt, but they didn't have the finances to do it over the summer. It looked the next year there would be no Hogwarts. I offered them the Malfoy fortune. Not all of it, my mother and I still needed to get by, but I offered them the finances. I had no use for it any longer, nor would my mother. She enjoyed something like fine clothing, but the Manor alone had been overkill. The carpets she and my father had been rowing about seemed silly in later years; as did the simple task of her making me pancakes. She was a pureblood, not supposed to do things like make me cookies and pancakes. But she did, because she was my mother. She loved me beyond my immense ego and attitude.

They left excitedly, chasing one another to tell the new Headmistress. Hogwartians were in sorrow; mourning the lives lost. I stayed in the Hospital Wings, surprised that Potter stayed with me. Sometimes I found him on the windowsill in the morning when I woke up. He'd be lost in his thoughts, his eyes red from his own mourning.

Most days he found me curled up in a tiny ball. I didn't cry, but I worried for my sanity. He didn't, he just took me in his arms and held me. Nothing more, he held me. My head on his chest… I heard his heart. It soothed me, the rhythmic beating, as did the fact that the heart was mine now.

I asked Potter what had happened to my godfather. At first he was silent, contemplating his thoughts. Then he started the tale. From the beginning. My godfather had been an unusual man, I knew that, but I somehow never thought of him being able to love.

As it turned out, he was the biggest sweetheart, he just never showed it. I smiled absently at his memory. Severus Snape… my other mentor. Hero. Father.

Both my fathers were gone. I should consider myself lucky, I still had my mother… but I would miss them. A lot. Potter went on to tell me how he would ascertain a portrait of my godfather would be put in the Headmaster's study.

"He was the bravest man I ever knew." Potter announced. I lost control of my emotions again, this time not hiding my tears in my hands, but rather gripping Potter as a rock.

As time went by, I went to collect my mother. She hugged me tightly, suffocating me nearly, when she saw that I was still alive. She enfolded Potter too. He grinned and thanked her for lying to the Dark Lord. I'd heard that too. My mother had truly lied to the Dark Lord. She was a legend in my eyes. We returned to Malfoy Manor, but both of us found the pain too much. The place was full of memories, not even good memories, horrid memories of killings, slaying, massacres and murders. The good times we'd had as a family were no more. The day my father chased my mother around with a snow white rose; the day my father tried to help my mother make pancakes – he'd been donned in a chef's hat; the day my mother burnt the carpet…

Potter had invited us to Grimmauld Place, which he'd been renovating entirely. The house wasn't grim, as the name would make one think, but quite peaceful and warm. For months we lived happily. Potter went to the ministry every day, learning to become an Auror, whilst I'd opted to remain at home, with my mother, and I did my studies there. By post. St. Mungo's had accepted me as a student, and I was studying to become a healer.

I thought my fairy-tale was coming true.

A year later, Potter came home with great news. He'd been inducted into the Aurors on special grounds. We celebrated; dancing and drinking. His friends showed up to celebrate with us. The two of them had been surprisingly accepting of me. I did apologize to them both. Granger for the years of hostility I'd shown towards her, based on her blood. I'd seen her blood the day Aunt Bella cut her. Her blood looked like normal blood, not dirty or muddily thick, just blood. That's where my eyes had started to open the first time. And Weasley had shown me kindness when he saved my life at the Battle of Hogwarts, I could never thank him for that. I apologized to him too. My attitude had been uncalled for.

That was the first night we'd made love. We'd never done anything before that night. Only innocent kisses and tactful gestures. My mother accepted Harry, not Potter anymore, into our family with open arms.

My father had been buried in Godric's Hollow, along with Severus. Severus was now forever reunited with Lily, and my mother had insisted that Lucius Malfoy had to be buried there too. She claimed he and Severus had been like brothers. My mother set her own grave aside too.

She enjoyed living with two boys. She spoiled us daily. Harry once made the comment that her food nearly beat Mrs Weasley's. Nearly.

My fairy-tale had been on track. Now just for getting married and the happily ever after… right?

Wrong. Dead wrong.

Harry stormed into the house one night, his clothes drenched. I tried to speak to him, but he had no emotions in his eyes. He'd been imperiursed, I knew immediately. I fired my wand at him, lifting the curse. He enveloped me in a tight hug as he shook.

"Harry, what is?" I'd asked. He wasn't shaking because ehe was cold. He was shaking because he was scared.

"It's horrible, Draco, what they've done." He sobbed. "The Death Eaters that got away… Draco, they're all dead."

"Who?"

"Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville… They're all dead! The werewolves mauled them… and I'm next." He nattered, not taking time to breathe. "They're coming for me, and you have to get out!" He pushed me away, towards the fireplace.

"I'm not leaving you!" I screamed, wrestling him for control.

"Draco, if you don't go, they'll kill you too! I don't want that! I love you, for crying out loud!"

It had been the first time he said it. It would also be the last.

"Where's your mum? She has to go too." He went on, his hands in his hair in hopelessness.

"She's at my father's grave…" I'd started.

"Good, now go!" He'd cut across me, waving his hand.

"I'm not leaving you, Harry!" I'd shrieked at the top of my lungs.

"Draco, go!" He begged.

"What if you die?" I demanded, the thought terrifying me.

"I promised I'd never leave you, didn't I?" He said. I couldn't believe he still remembered it. I'd forgotten. I was horrible.

"You did…" I reasoned, the fear not leaving me.

"Then please, Draco, I'll get to you, just go! Go to your mother, and flee! I promise, I swear, I'll find you!"

Behind him a loud crash could be heard. The house had been broken into.

"Now!"

"I love you, Harry!" It was the last thing I'd ever said to him.

I was just in time to see Harry's body being speared by something sharp as I turned on the spot. A sword had been pushed through him. There was no way he was alive. Mentally, I saw him falling to his knees, his eyes searching the space I'd been standing in only seconds earlier. His emerald eyes would be accusing the air for my disappearance.

He'd promised he'd always be there for me. Why couldn't I do the same for him?

I did as he said. I found my mother, and we fled to France, to the Zabinis. They'd moved. We were never found by any rogue Death Eaters.

I woke up for nights, screaming for Harry. Mum always found me, holding me, but not daring to say everything would be all right. She knew she'd be telling me a lie. And I'd had enough of lies.

The longing became so great, the hole in my heart so big, the pain so much… Dad, Severus, and Harry. Mum's soft body, warm hugs and sweet words couldn't fill my heart. I had to end it.

I snuck out one night, heading for the kitchen. I wanted a fairy-tale. Even if it was the twisted version of Swan Lake. There were knives in the kitchen. Sharp ones too. I tried to end it all, I tried to kill myself. It would've worked too, had Blaise not walked in for a midnight glass of water at that moment. He'd immediately called for help. My mother had stared in shock. I could see the accusations in her eyes. How dare I try to be so selfish? She'd lost everyone, and now I wanted to leave her too?

They took me to St. Mungo's. The healers submitted me to therapy. I had to talk about my feelings. I had none to talk about. My soul was dead, my heart gone. The bloody spasm that used to beat so fast was empty.

At night I couldn't sleep, and when I did sleep, I dreamt about Harry's murder, about my father as he protected Harry and as Nagini attacked Severus. It all became muddled, until the sword sliced my father and Severus was the snake. Or it was Harry's head that rolled to my feet instead of Theo's. I tried to commit suicide again, this time attempting to poison myself, not wanting to live in nightmares…

The healer's told my mother with bowed heads that there was nothing they could do for me, but have me submitted to a mental ward. She'd cried, refusing, but they insisted. I was not well. I was as mad as a bloody spotted bunny, and the fact that the walls answered when I spoke to them was proof of it!

They put me in this room. There's a bed and a chair. I'm on the chair most days, battling sleep in fear of the dreams. The lone window in the room was my only view of the outside world. Mum sometimes visited, but she was afraid of me. Blaise was the only one that stuck to my side.

The walls answer me more often. We have long discussions, and they, too, are unhappy about the lack of paint they have. White is so boring, they say.

This is my fairy-tale, not true? And I am the protagonist. Why aren't I winning? Why am I a mental patient, if this is my story? Why can I not get a happy ending? Why does my mother fear me? Am I the wolf? Am I the baby bear that got his stuff stolen, broken and his privacy invaded? Have I interpreted the whole situation wrong, am I the antagonist?

One night I woke up screaming again. Again, warm hands enfolded me immediately. But I was in the hospital's mental ward… who would hug me here?

"Shhs… Draco, love…" He whispered. I went stationary in his arms.

"Harry?" I gasped, looking up. He was there! He was real, I could feel his arms, and he was there!

"Yeah, yeah, it's me." He said, laughing the same nervous laugh he'd laughed after the war in the school's hospital wing.

"I thought you were dead." I squeaked, tears burning my eyes as they slid down my cheeks. I tasted the saltiness as they reached my lips.

"I am." He said, inclining his head. "But I did promise you I'd never leave you."

I snuggled up to him, grasping his back and burying my face in his chest. He was there… he'd some back. For me.

"I tried to kill myself." I admitted. He nodded against me.

"I know, Draco. Promise me you won't ever do that again." He pleaded, pushing me away and looking me in the eyes. "Because if you do, we'll never see each other again."

The shortest way to hell is by suicide, someone once told me.

"What's dying like?" I asked, staring at the ceiling.

"I can't tell you, silly boy." He chuckled. "But it's not as terrifying as you think."

"Then from thee much more must flow." I quoted Donne. "It's better than sleep… isn't it?"

"I can't tell you, Draco, it's not fair." He said, pulling me close. "I can't stay, Draco. I only came down for a small while." He pressed a kiss to my temple. "Promise me you'll be better?"

"I can't go on without you." I replied, my voice small. He pushed me away again and placed his hand over my chest, over the spasm that came alive again.

"I'm right there, love." He smiled. "I'm not going anywhere. You just won't see me."

I nodded.

"I'll always love you, Harry."

"And you too, Draco."

I looked up, he was gone. I sighed, staring at the wall again.

"You think I'm insane, Wall?"

"Not at all." It answered. I grinned, for the first time in years, I grinned.

"Good to know."

. . .

**A/N: Please review!**


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